


this.

by sam_roulette



Series: Prompt Fills + AU Drabbles [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:13:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28164552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sam_roulette/pseuds/sam_roulette
Summary: (prompt: JonMartin; "things you said when you thought I was sleeping.")While Jon thinks Martin has fallen asleep, he says, “I’d give you the world, if I could,” into the hollow of Martin’s throat.Martin still wonders what he’s done to deserve this.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Prompt Fills + AU Drabbles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1944931
Comments: 6
Kudos: 124





	this.

Martin still wonders what he’s done to deserve this, really. “This” is a nebulous thing, soft and sparking as whatever makes stars glow or the bioluminescence rise to the surface of the ocean in pictures of expensive, faraway places he’s never allowed himself the pleasure of imagining stepping foot in.

“This” is a lot of things happening in the span of seconds dragging into hours dragging into days that he doesn’t dare think will drag into years. Jon is curled into him, catlike and supple and digging the odd joint or cold appendage where it doesn’t quite fit. They aren’t puzzle pieces, made to fit effortlessly and prepackaged in a picturesque box; they fought to have the luxury of even being able to touch their edges together, much less move and meld and place each other where it still feels right. Martin would fight again for this. A thousand armies, a thousand nights alone, a thousand times over the years where they pop up again and again and are magnetized to come together in new lives.

“This” is Martin blearily slipping off to sleep with Jon’s head tucked up against his neck, thick curls gently tickling his chin and brown fingers tracing vined patterns through his pyjama top, breath ghosting against his neck. Jon hums something tuneless and melodic; possibly a lullaby, or possibly just an old song made sweet by his voice, rumbling so gently in the depths of his chest that it sinks into Martin in turn. It’s peace that Martin has only ever dreamed of on the lonelier nights, longing fogging up the back of his eyelids so thickly that it substituted real darkness. Yearning is no replacement for stars. Martin wants to write poetry about all the possible ways that nonsense means something to him, and then find a way to translate it into something Jon loves so Jon knows too.

“This” never seems to end even if the world wants to, and it’s as lovely as it is terrifying. Martin intellectually knows it will end, and that Jon will stop wordlessly singing against his throat and that they will have to leave the bed; that they will go to work and that Martin will stop smiling and that Jon might leave. But for now, with their limbs tangled in the sheets and their hearts tangled together, Martin finds himself. It is as lovely as it is terrifying.

While Jon thinks Martin has fallen asleep, he says, “I’d give you the world, if I could,” into the hollow of Martin’s throat. He says it, and whispers it, and breathes it as though he’s praying and that Martin’s body around him is a temple that he’s found sanctuary in at long last. Martin loves him so terribly much that he feels it down to his barest wires, plucked and splayed open for Jon and only Jon to play.

For just this moment Martin lets himself believe. And he whispers “And I’d give you the same,” into Jon’s hair, and he lets the quiet of the moment lead him home.

**Author's Note:**

> would you believe me if I said I don't actually like poetry


End file.
